


Calm

by alistairweekend



Series: Wren Hawke [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3433106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistairweekend/pseuds/alistairweekend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of her mother, all of Wren's pent-up feelings of grief and anger over the loss of her other family members catch up with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm

_Hopeless. Pointless. All of it._

With each word spoken in her mind, a crash was heard. Wren Hawke stood in the main area of her mansion, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Several piles of broken porcelain sat along the base of the eastern wall of the room, with additional shards randomly scattered about. She didn’t care if they caught in her feet. She didn’t care about much of anything right then. Nothing but the overwhelming sense of  _helplessness_  clouding, choking her heart. Making it pound.

Abruptly she whirled around, scoping the tables lining the other wall for something else to destroy. Her eyes fell on a beautiful vase, likely crafted with love in Nevarra or Antiva and quite expensive. A small bouquet of lush white lilies complemented its opalescent accents.

A boiling rage burned through Wren. She swiped the vase, flowers and all, off the table, and with a yell that turned her throat raw she hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall with an acute shatter. Slowly, Wren sank to her knees, unmindful of any pieces that lay on the floor beneath her.

"Wren?" The voice was familiar, soft. She saw Anders through her peripheral vision, standing in the doorway and looking on at the mess with sorrowful eyes.

Without another word he crossed the floor and knelt beside her. He held out his arms and Wren sank into them without hesitation.

"They’re gone," she whispered. Anders stroked her hair. It was beginning to turn frizzy again, as it did when she neglected to tend to it for too long. "Father, Carver, B-Bethany… and now Mother. Everything I lived for, everything I  _fought_ for… gone.” Her body shook as sobs overtook her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Wren had dedicated her entire life to protecting her family. Keeping Bethany away from the Circle had consumed Wren. And she was now realizing that because of that, everyone had slipped through her fingers one by one.

"I know, sweetheart," Anders soothed. He took one of her hands — bloody from crushing glass — in his own and channeled a gentle stream of healing magic into it. "But Bethany is still alive thanks to you, right?"

Wren managed a nod, but her tears did not cease. Her hitching breath prevented her from pointing out that Bethany might as well have died with the way her mother reacted to the news that she would likely never see her younger daughter again, and Bethany herself was bitter about being sent to the Wardens.

Anders continued. “I know I can never replace those you truly lost, but I’m here, and I pray I always will be.” He pressed a kiss to Wren’s now-mended hand. “I love you, Wren. Please remember that.”

Wren said nothing, but leaned into Anders, eyes closed, hands clutching with a quiet desperation at his well-worn coat. He had become her lifeline in a sea of despair. In any other circumstance Wren would have refused to be near anyone in such moments of vulnerability — in an ideal scenario, she would have pushed her grief to the back of her mind and focused on the remaining people who were counting on her.

Her father and siblings had been taken from her in the midst of chaos and running; there hadn’t an opportunity to stop and mourn, even if she had wanted to. Leandra had been ripped from her grasp during a peaceful time. A time that people weren’t  _supposed_  to die.

And now there was no one left to protect. Everything had slowly crumbled around Wren until all she had was a chance for all her latent feelings of guilt and grief to catch up with her.

She felt Anders tighten his embrace, and as he did so his words echoed in her mind:  _"I’m here."_

Wren had been wrong. While yes, her family was gone, not everything was lost. She had Anders. And even if that wasn’t enough, it was  _something_.

"Come on, love, let’s get you cleaned up," Anders murmured as he felt Wren’s shudders subside. He helped her up with care. Small shards of ceramic clinked on the ground as she stood, and Anders had to restrain himself from wincing at the sight of her bloody legs. Her face wasn’t in good shape either; dried tear paths crisscrossed her cheeks, visible against her dark skin only when the light hit them a particular way. Her amber eyes were bleary and there was no trace of the red eyeshadow she usually wore.

But Anders didn’t care. With an arm around Wren he led her up the stairs and into her room, where he healed her legs without a word. She stared at him the whole time in a trance-like state, unable to look away at the concerned crease in his brow, the small curls of golden hair that came loose from his ponytail and hung in his face, shimmering in the firelight.

Before she knew it, the lights were blown out and Anders was in bed beside her, arms enclosed protectively, comfortingly around her once more.

_Yes,_  Wren thought as she began to drift off.  _He certainly is_ something.


End file.
